I had a very unusual 2010 running season. For one, I wasn't injured; more than likely, I was safe from injury because of undertraining. There were some highs and lows, and all the highs came in marathons or ultras. As I am writing this, I am sorely out of shape and I won't have time to train properly in the next few months. My goals for 2011 are, as such, very vague.
My goals for 2010 were stated on this very blog a year ago:
5K 16:00 flat (under 16 would be too much pressure)
Age group national champion in the 5000
10K Under-34
Half Under 1:15
Win an ultra
Hmm. Only made one of those goals.
I started out the year with a winter marathon. Jogged the first half, sped up and finished in 3:04. Finished 2nd and in the money. Great start to the season.
The next race I remember was Hells Hills (no apostrophe after Hell, just so you know). A poor man's ultra at just 50K, I did win it. That was the one fulfilled goal for 2010. A fun race, but it's hard to compare times in trail races. If three faster guys had shown up and I had taken fourth, I probably would have thought I sucked that day. But as it was, it felt like a great race.
Then came another training marathon in 2:50. Felt good and relaxed. Stuck with the other two leaders till 13K to go and then raced the last bit on a good runner's high.
The Copenhagen Marathon. I was aiming for 2:42 and got 2:49. The end was terrible. Looking back, I was probably mining some good form that ran out just before this race. I ran one more marathon a few weeks afterwards, where I dropped out, proving that my peak was long gone. I won't run a road marathon again for a long time.
The rest of the spring, I was able to train really well. Because of my schedule, I had post-call days off every week, and I was able to put together two strong months. Ironically, my goal marathon for the summer (Grand Island in Marquette, MI) filled up too fast and I ended up just training through the summer.
I did run a 5K in 16:32 in Carlton the day before the Girl ran Voyageur. This was in 90 degree heat and it felt miserable the whole time. I bet I could have gotten close to 16:00, another of the goals above, but that 5K was the only short race I did all year.
Ok, not really. I forget some fun races, like a relay, where I ran two legs in high 16s. But the Carlton race was the only short race I truly raced. The last time that happened must have been 15 years ago. Wow.
What did we do in the fall?
It feels like there was some other race first, but the high point was certainly October's Brocken Marathon. 3:04 on that course is what I consider my "relative" marathon PR. The best part was that I got done with so much left in the tank, and a promise of faster times. That vein of form continued into running 46 miles at the Copenhagen 6 Hour Race.
High point? Either Hells Hills or Brocken. Both non-technical, hilly trail races, which would appear to have become my strong suit.
Goals for 2011.
Since I failed 4 out of 5 goals for 2010, I had better make my 2011 goals more attainable. Problem is, I don't know what next year will bring. I don't know if we're moving back to Wisconsin in September or in January. This winter and spring are going to be uber-busy at work. How are these for goals:
Keep a running log
Get under 65 kg consistently
Win a short race
Win a long race
Win an ultra
Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to all.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Drukket!
When I speak dreamily about a faraway fairytale land, sometimes referred to as Utopia and other times simply called Wisconsin, I always mention "snow in winter". Yet, how the hell come, whenever it snows here, I hate it.
Because my cross country skis are in Wisconsin?
No. Not really, although it would be cool to have them here. Snow profoundly paralyzes Denmark. We have gotten maybe 10 inches over the last week, and the resulting traffic chaos is amazing. Add to this the fact that I work 60 miles from my house. I usually take the train, but for night and weekend shifts, I drive. This morning, with an inch of fresh snow in 25 degree weather, some people were going 20 miles an hour on the freeway.
I should mention Natali.
She didn't take the news well; that her teachers had brought up the weight issue. I wrote to my ex about what had happened, and she responded with a nice email full of advice. Natali was pissed. She is a superb splitter and had lost a golden opportunity here.
The interesting thing is that she got over her anger very quickly. When I saw her the next afternoon, she seemed almost relieved that the can of worms had been opened. I know she has been thinking about it a lot, and of course the other girls have made fun of her. This process has made it acceptable to talk about her weight. Somewhat to my surprise.
So in the last three days, she has been very active and even skipped her evening snack one night. I asked her "are you really hungry?"; she smiled and looked down and replied: "I'm learning to speak to my stomach and he says no". She is so cool.
Meanwhile, the Girl is throwing up non-stop. If you wonder whether being an MD makes her less or more nervous of something happening to this pregnancy, here are a few examples of her state of mind:
- "I'm so nauseated. Then it can't be an ectopic! Hey wake up. I don't think it's an ectopic!"
- "Now I feel great. Oh god, what if it's an ectopic?"
- "My stomach is so big. What if it's a molar pregnancy? Molars make lots of hCG, so maybe that's why I'm nauseated.
- "Oh my god, maybe the Ginger is filling up my stomach. So if I take too much, I'll get nauseated again."
She is throwing up so much that the Lorax scream "drukket" (has drunk), whenever she makes a gaggy face. We're not sure why he screams "drukket", but we suspect that he thinks that she has drunk too much, too fast.
Because my cross country skis are in Wisconsin?
No. Not really, although it would be cool to have them here. Snow profoundly paralyzes Denmark. We have gotten maybe 10 inches over the last week, and the resulting traffic chaos is amazing. Add to this the fact that I work 60 miles from my house. I usually take the train, but for night and weekend shifts, I drive. This morning, with an inch of fresh snow in 25 degree weather, some people were going 20 miles an hour on the freeway.
I should mention Natali.
She didn't take the news well; that her teachers had brought up the weight issue. I wrote to my ex about what had happened, and she responded with a nice email full of advice. Natali was pissed. She is a superb splitter and had lost a golden opportunity here.
The interesting thing is that she got over her anger very quickly. When I saw her the next afternoon, she seemed almost relieved that the can of worms had been opened. I know she has been thinking about it a lot, and of course the other girls have made fun of her. This process has made it acceptable to talk about her weight. Somewhat to my surprise.
So in the last three days, she has been very active and even skipped her evening snack one night. I asked her "are you really hungry?"; she smiled and looked down and replied: "I'm learning to speak to my stomach and he says no". She is so cool.
Meanwhile, the Girl is throwing up non-stop. If you wonder whether being an MD makes her less or more nervous of something happening to this pregnancy, here are a few examples of her state of mind:
- "I'm so nauseated. Then it can't be an ectopic! Hey wake up. I don't think it's an ectopic!"
- "Now I feel great. Oh god, what if it's an ectopic?"
- "My stomach is so big. What if it's a molar pregnancy? Molars make lots of hCG, so maybe that's why I'm nauseated.
- "Oh my god, maybe the Ginger is filling up my stomach. So if I take too much, I'll get nauseated again."
She is throwing up so much that the Lorax scream "drukket" (has drunk), whenever she makes a gaggy face. We're not sure why he screams "drukket", but we suspect that he thinks that she has drunk too much, too fast.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Time out!
Am I the only one who feels like life is happening too fast?
We've been back from our work/vacation trip for almost a week now. The apartment's a mess; there are a million little things we are behind on. The jetlag won't die. Christmas is coming, whether we like it or not, and we still have to buy 10 thoughtful presents. Oh, and the Lorax has chickenpox!
The kicker came today at Natali's parent-teacher conference. There were three teachers and one of me. Academically, she is doing fine. Ok, I knew that, but their concerned faces told me that the conversation was about to turn sour. In short, they think she is fat, and that I am not doing enough to prevent it. Her female teacher told me that if only I would spend more time with her, Natali would forget about eating. Don't I see that all the changes in her life are causing her to resolve to food as a friend that never lets her down? All three of them kept going on about how lazy and fat she was. One of them, a guy I don't know too well who runs the after school program, joked that Natali's first words upon entering the building was always "what's for dinner?". Har-dee-har-har.
It was like sitting in front of three Dr. Phils, only with more platitudes. I told them that from when I come home from work, Natali is never more than 3 feet away from me. I didn't tell them how the Girl sometimes complains that Natali acts more like my wife than she does, but maybe I should have; just think of the forthcoming bumper sticker logic!
I was up against the ropes.
We came to the following conclusions:
1. She can only eat the lunch/snacks we pack for her. No accepting leftovers from other kids. No begging snacks at the after school program.
2. One hour of moving around every day.
3. She gets weighed every Thursday, and her teacher will sit down and review the result and the preceding week's eating and exercise.
I like the rules; hopefully they will work. I did not like the attitude, though. They kept implying that she has too much responsibility for her age. That I'm too uninvolved. Talk eventually turned to our plans next year. I explained that my ex wants her back in La Crosse next year, but that I'm hoping to get her back the following year. They lectured me on the importance of stability, and I told them that I had no say in it. I mentioned that for all I knew, my ex could call the police and tell them I kidnapped Natali to a foreign country. That got a little respect, or at least generated some genuine interest, and I'm convinced our sorry tale will be shared over pipes and Birkenstocks in the teacher's lounge.
At first, I was a little angry. I was driving to work, cursing this outside-Green-zone Baghdad that is my life. Cursing my commute, cursing the distance to Andreas, cursing how Natali has to move next year. Cursing the day the Girl looked at me and said, "why can't we move to Denmark" and I said "why not?", because I was so in love and would go anywhere with her. A simple "nah, I can't leave the kids" would have sufficed.
Then a sense of despair set in. If only I could slow down life a little; if only I had more time. Time to mold our family into a unit so tight, with values and traditions so strong, that we could laugh at the mundane troubles of ho-hum life. Why don't we have a Christmas tree yet? Why do I work every day till Christmas, including a 24-hour shift on the 25th? Maybe our last Christmas in Denmark, and it gets swallowed up in stress.
We dream of an end to all this, of course, as idiots in our shoes always do. The end never comes, until one of us, most likely me, dies from a stress-related heart attack. But a short respite is on the horizon, at least. When the Girl goes on maternity leave in the fall, we are moving to Wisconsin for 6+ months. She'll work on her PhD with the UW eye people; I'll be done with fellowship and will freelance at odd jobs. It's certainly something to look forward to: imagine being close to the kids, working less but for more money, while living in an exciting new place (Madison, where I have never lived, but where the Girl went to college). This coincides beautifully with Natali's forced return to La Crosse. For the unlikely reader unfamiliar with Wisconsin's layout, it's about a two-hour drive from La Crosse to Madison. A cross-country trek by Danish standards; a well-deserved chance to catch up on some NPR by American.
Perhaps I wil get some sleep tonight and enjoy my post-call day with the Girl and Natali. Our poxed son is still with his grandmother, so the three of us shall form a tight unit and find a Christmas tree. It will be me and my two wives, all of us losing weight from the walking and the emesis.
We've been back from our work/vacation trip for almost a week now. The apartment's a mess; there are a million little things we are behind on. The jetlag won't die. Christmas is coming, whether we like it or not, and we still have to buy 10 thoughtful presents. Oh, and the Lorax has chickenpox!
The kicker came today at Natali's parent-teacher conference. There were three teachers and one of me. Academically, she is doing fine. Ok, I knew that, but their concerned faces told me that the conversation was about to turn sour. In short, they think she is fat, and that I am not doing enough to prevent it. Her female teacher told me that if only I would spend more time with her, Natali would forget about eating. Don't I see that all the changes in her life are causing her to resolve to food as a friend that never lets her down? All three of them kept going on about how lazy and fat she was. One of them, a guy I don't know too well who runs the after school program, joked that Natali's first words upon entering the building was always "what's for dinner?". Har-dee-har-har.
It was like sitting in front of three Dr. Phils, only with more platitudes. I told them that from when I come home from work, Natali is never more than 3 feet away from me. I didn't tell them how the Girl sometimes complains that Natali acts more like my wife than she does, but maybe I should have; just think of the forthcoming bumper sticker logic!
I was up against the ropes.
We came to the following conclusions:
1. She can only eat the lunch/snacks we pack for her. No accepting leftovers from other kids. No begging snacks at the after school program.
2. One hour of moving around every day.
3. She gets weighed every Thursday, and her teacher will sit down and review the result and the preceding week's eating and exercise.
I like the rules; hopefully they will work. I did not like the attitude, though. They kept implying that she has too much responsibility for her age. That I'm too uninvolved. Talk eventually turned to our plans next year. I explained that my ex wants her back in La Crosse next year, but that I'm hoping to get her back the following year. They lectured me on the importance of stability, and I told them that I had no say in it. I mentioned that for all I knew, my ex could call the police and tell them I kidnapped Natali to a foreign country. That got a little respect, or at least generated some genuine interest, and I'm convinced our sorry tale will be shared over pipes and Birkenstocks in the teacher's lounge.
At first, I was a little angry. I was driving to work, cursing this outside-Green-zone Baghdad that is my life. Cursing my commute, cursing the distance to Andreas, cursing how Natali has to move next year. Cursing the day the Girl looked at me and said, "why can't we move to Denmark" and I said "why not?", because I was so in love and would go anywhere with her. A simple "nah, I can't leave the kids" would have sufficed.
Then a sense of despair set in. If only I could slow down life a little; if only I had more time. Time to mold our family into a unit so tight, with values and traditions so strong, that we could laugh at the mundane troubles of ho-hum life. Why don't we have a Christmas tree yet? Why do I work every day till Christmas, including a 24-hour shift on the 25th? Maybe our last Christmas in Denmark, and it gets swallowed up in stress.
We dream of an end to all this, of course, as idiots in our shoes always do. The end never comes, until one of us, most likely me, dies from a stress-related heart attack. But a short respite is on the horizon, at least. When the Girl goes on maternity leave in the fall, we are moving to Wisconsin for 6+ months. She'll work on her PhD with the UW eye people; I'll be done with fellowship and will freelance at odd jobs. It's certainly something to look forward to: imagine being close to the kids, working less but for more money, while living in an exciting new place (Madison, where I have never lived, but where the Girl went to college). This coincides beautifully with Natali's forced return to La Crosse. For the unlikely reader unfamiliar with Wisconsin's layout, it's about a two-hour drive from La Crosse to Madison. A cross-country trek by Danish standards; a well-deserved chance to catch up on some NPR by American.
Perhaps I wil get some sleep tonight and enjoy my post-call day with the Girl and Natali. Our poxed son is still with his grandmother, so the three of us shall form a tight unit and find a Christmas tree. It will be me and my two wives, all of us losing weight from the walking and the emesis.
December running log
1: 10 miles around Old Key west. Some decent fartleks.
3: 8 miles to the convention center and back. Horrible Orlando!
5: 8 miles around Orlando
6: 4 miles on the treadmill
7: 10 miles of fartleks around some residential areas in Orlando.
10: 3 perimeter loops in the snow. Tired legs
12: Two hours slow with the Girl. 20 minutes tempo around Buddinge/Bagsværd. Felt zippy.
14: 3 Perimeter loops, preceded by dropping Natali off at school. Slippery trails, but decent legs
17: It was supposed to be 8X800m on the treadmill but I quit after 6. It was hot. I gotta get used to it. First 4, including 200m jogs in 15:04. Pace probably around 5:45 and felt terrible.
20: Two tennis court loops (10K?) tempo. Started rusty; finished strong.
23: 6K jog in the snow around Bagsværd.
26: 8Kish tempo in the snow along freeway trail.
27: 12K on the treadmill. "4x800" in 14:56. Description: 200m@12.5kph, then 800 fast. Repeat four times. Feeling surprisingly peppy.
29: 10K on the treadmill. "4x800" in 14:50. Ok legs.
31: New Year Social Marathon with the Girl. Not exactly too social, as we got left in the dust by the group. Nearly half the field dropped back and I'm sure a few got lost.
3: 8 miles to the convention center and back. Horrible Orlando!
5: 8 miles around Orlando
6: 4 miles on the treadmill
7: 10 miles of fartleks around some residential areas in Orlando.
10: 3 perimeter loops in the snow. Tired legs
12: Two hours slow with the Girl. 20 minutes tempo around Buddinge/Bagsværd. Felt zippy.
14: 3 Perimeter loops, preceded by dropping Natali off at school. Slippery trails, but decent legs
17: It was supposed to be 8X800m on the treadmill but I quit after 6. It was hot. I gotta get used to it. First 4, including 200m jogs in 15:04. Pace probably around 5:45 and felt terrible.
20: Two tennis court loops (10K?) tempo. Started rusty; finished strong.
23: 6K jog in the snow around Bagsværd.
26: 8Kish tempo in the snow along freeway trail.
27: 12K on the treadmill. "4x800" in 14:56. Description: 200m@12.5kph, then 800 fast. Repeat four times. Feeling surprisingly peppy.
29: 10K on the treadmill. "4x800" in 14:50. Ok legs.
31: New Year Social Marathon with the Girl. Not exactly too social, as we got left in the dust by the group. Nearly half the field dropped back and I'm sure a few got lost.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Crazy trip
My last two weeks have been a little out of the ordinary.
We flew in for a wonderful Thanksgiving. That day turned out to be the most relaxing day of the whole trip.
Then I worked the whole weekend in the ER. It was moderately busy, but no one was seriously ill. I only shipped one lady out and admitted three, so that was probably below average.
I love working there. It's the exact opposite of the ivory tower medicine I practice every day, and I miss the general medicine stuff more than most of my colleagues. The fact that anything may roll in to the ER is unnerving, no doubt, but at the same time it's refreshing. It's increasingly obvious to me that my dream job would be that of a community hematologist, with an amount of general internal medicine thrown in. Hematology is such a specialized field that one almost has to work in a large center to see exclusively hematology, and I'm not sure that appeals to me. Some do combined hematology and oncology, which I won't be able to do unless I get trained in oncology, too.
We flew to Florida and Disney World. We were there two years ago and the kids loved it. I arrived two years ago, convinced I would hate it. I expected a fake, tacky plastic world full of fat people waiting in lines. And, of course, that's what Disney World is. Still, I ended up having a great time and looked forward to coming back. The second time wasn't as good as the first, but it was still a very good time. We visited EPCOT, Magic Kingdom and Animal Kingdom, and they all had their own charm. After the first day, the whole family glided smoothly through the parks with a shared purpose of having fun.
My son, Andreas, sees me as a fun guy who shows up every few months. He had a good time in Disney World, and he opened up a little bit to me on a few occasions. We will live away from him for another year, but at least there is an end to it. He is generally doing better in school than I have feared, but he has behavioral problems. I do wonder if he has a bit of ADD, and his teachers have voiced concerns about that, too. I need to get back in his life.
Suddenly, one night, I had to leave for my convention. We had gotten into a mode of riding Disney shuttles, racing to pools, and playing loud games in our condo. And from one moment to the next, I had to leave. Natali was crying and Andreas went into quiet beyond-reach mode. The taxi came quicker than I expected, and I had to leave a house full of wailing chaos.
So there I was, at the hematology convention, wearing a suit and talking about lymphomas with other hematologists, knowing the Girl and the kids were just a few miles away.
I want to describe Orlando. Partly because Orlando is a horrible place that deserves mention, but partly because I realize that my fellow Danish convention-goers think of Orlando as America. What a terrible place to live! Everything seems so unsustainable and fake. There are beautiful sidewalks that meander through flower beds and palm trees. They end suddenly, at arbitrary spots and are clearly built for people to look at through car windows. It's not possible to walk anywhere; I had to break several laws to find my way on foot to the convention center.
The grass is unnaturally green, and if one runs on it, it feels fake. It's watered several times a day, making it thicker than grass should be. If one runs on it, it's apparent that there is no normal soil underneath. It grows on some kind of rubber mesh. The grass is made to be admired from a car.
Orlando has a strip, akin to the Las Vegas strip, of hotels and restaurants. Universal Studios and Seaworld lie at opposite ends of this strip. Everything is manicured beautifully, and a trolley reminiscent of Europe or San Francisco will take you up and down the strip. But when one looks behind that row of glitzy hotels, there is nothing. Just abandoned lots and fences and, beyond them, an unhealthy-looking swamp.
And the people. The convention-goers all praise the service level here. I am struck by how unfair it all is. It's hard not to notice how everyone in a menial job is black or Hispanic. Every white person appears wealthy, thin and aloof. Every Hispanic, and I mean every adult person to the man or woman, is obese. There are restaurants so exquisite they import the entire waiting staff from Italy, while the people who actually live here eat mostly fast food.
Okay, so I have been away from my routines for two stressful weeks, and it shows in the above post. But I stand by the general sentiment. I hate Orlando.
We flew in for a wonderful Thanksgiving. That day turned out to be the most relaxing day of the whole trip.
Then I worked the whole weekend in the ER. It was moderately busy, but no one was seriously ill. I only shipped one lady out and admitted three, so that was probably below average.
I love working there. It's the exact opposite of the ivory tower medicine I practice every day, and I miss the general medicine stuff more than most of my colleagues. The fact that anything may roll in to the ER is unnerving, no doubt, but at the same time it's refreshing. It's increasingly obvious to me that my dream job would be that of a community hematologist, with an amount of general internal medicine thrown in. Hematology is such a specialized field that one almost has to work in a large center to see exclusively hematology, and I'm not sure that appeals to me. Some do combined hematology and oncology, which I won't be able to do unless I get trained in oncology, too.
We flew to Florida and Disney World. We were there two years ago and the kids loved it. I arrived two years ago, convinced I would hate it. I expected a fake, tacky plastic world full of fat people waiting in lines. And, of course, that's what Disney World is. Still, I ended up having a great time and looked forward to coming back. The second time wasn't as good as the first, but it was still a very good time. We visited EPCOT, Magic Kingdom and Animal Kingdom, and they all had their own charm. After the first day, the whole family glided smoothly through the parks with a shared purpose of having fun.
My son, Andreas, sees me as a fun guy who shows up every few months. He had a good time in Disney World, and he opened up a little bit to me on a few occasions. We will live away from him for another year, but at least there is an end to it. He is generally doing better in school than I have feared, but he has behavioral problems. I do wonder if he has a bit of ADD, and his teachers have voiced concerns about that, too. I need to get back in his life.
Suddenly, one night, I had to leave for my convention. We had gotten into a mode of riding Disney shuttles, racing to pools, and playing loud games in our condo. And from one moment to the next, I had to leave. Natali was crying and Andreas went into quiet beyond-reach mode. The taxi came quicker than I expected, and I had to leave a house full of wailing chaos.
So there I was, at the hematology convention, wearing a suit and talking about lymphomas with other hematologists, knowing the Girl and the kids were just a few miles away.
I want to describe Orlando. Partly because Orlando is a horrible place that deserves mention, but partly because I realize that my fellow Danish convention-goers think of Orlando as America. What a terrible place to live! Everything seems so unsustainable and fake. There are beautiful sidewalks that meander through flower beds and palm trees. They end suddenly, at arbitrary spots and are clearly built for people to look at through car windows. It's not possible to walk anywhere; I had to break several laws to find my way on foot to the convention center.
The grass is unnaturally green, and if one runs on it, it feels fake. It's watered several times a day, making it thicker than grass should be. If one runs on it, it's apparent that there is no normal soil underneath. It grows on some kind of rubber mesh. The grass is made to be admired from a car.
Orlando has a strip, akin to the Las Vegas strip, of hotels and restaurants. Universal Studios and Seaworld lie at opposite ends of this strip. Everything is manicured beautifully, and a trolley reminiscent of Europe or San Francisco will take you up and down the strip. But when one looks behind that row of glitzy hotels, there is nothing. Just abandoned lots and fences and, beyond them, an unhealthy-looking swamp.
And the people. The convention-goers all praise the service level here. I am struck by how unfair it all is. It's hard not to notice how everyone in a menial job is black or Hispanic. Every white person appears wealthy, thin and aloof. Every Hispanic, and I mean every adult person to the man or woman, is obese. There are restaurants so exquisite they import the entire waiting staff from Italy, while the people who actually live here eat mostly fast food.
Okay, so I have been away from my routines for two stressful weeks, and it shows in the above post. But I stand by the general sentiment. I hate Orlando.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Life in Limbo
My last 24 hours have been perfect.
I got off from overnight call at 9. I had gotten a decent amount of sleep, so I started my commute home by biking to a train station, a little farther away from where I usually catch the train home. It was a brisk 50 minute ride through the cold, bright morning, all on bike lanes.
Read two interesting articles on the train on two different kinds of leukemia. Got home and fixed a late breakfast. Read a bit of Last Night in Twisted River, the new John Irving book. I got done with A Prayer for Owen Meany last week and that was a great book. Twisted River is okay and it's getting better as I'm halfway through. I was about to take a nap when the Girl got home from her run. She has to change quickly into her work clothes, which is always fun to watch. We talked a bit before I dozed off. Post-call naps are the best.
When I got up, I did some sit-ups while watching Bones. Threw some running clothes on and ran to Natali's after-school care. She was happy to see me; there are times when she is a little embarrassed of me, but this wasn't one of them. Some of her friends came over to see if she could play on this or that day. I referred them back to Natali, who likes to hang with friends no more than every other day.
I ran while she biked. She has a bike that she loves; I just put some of those fancy induction bike lights on it. She likes to sing while riding one-handed. It's hard to keep up with her. We swung by the grocery store on the way back to buy stuff for dinner. She wanted home-made burgers, insisting on fresh ground beed, not the pre-formed patties. She had also seen a set of new sheets (duvet and pillow covers) that she wanted. I reminded her that she had spent her last money on a stupid Nerf gun and encouraged her to save up for the sheets. She mock-pouted.
At home, I agreed to eat in front of the TV. After all, Friends and Two Guys and a Girl were on. Then the Girl came home from music class with the Lorax. He had been singing loudly the whole way home, on the back of the Girl's bike, and now went straight for a burger (which he pronounces buh-guh in Danish). The Girl was off to look at retinas for a few hours and I cleaned up after dinner.
Then I played with the Lorax. Our typical game included me hiding and scaring him. Then I tickle him until he screams "sloot", meaning "the end". Then I freeze and he climbs up on my back. He says "start" and I start to buck until he falls off. Then I run off to hide again or, alternatively, he runs off to hide. We always end up giggling hard. Sometimes, he gets overwhelmed by the game and goes "hej far!" ("Hi dad"), touching my face, to remind himself that I'm dad and not some crazy wolf about to eat him.
Then I put him to bed. He can go from wild savage to fast asleep in 5 minutes. I offer him a rub and a song and he climbs into bed and lies on his stomach. I always sing "Superman Song" by Crash Test Dummies. I have sung that song to all three kids; perhaps I've sung it 500 times. If he's not asleep by the end of it, which he usually is, I sing "I've just seen a face" by the beatles, followed by "Long may you run" by Neil Young.
I read to Natali; a novel that takes place in Norway. We talked for five minutes before I turn off the lights and kiss her cheek. She always insists on me tucking her in under both duvets.
Then the Girl came home. Her study is humming along right now, and there has been no major crisis this week. We had an hour to ourselves before calling it a night.
This morning, I ran two hours on the trails that start behind our house. Up and down steep hills, trying to beat up my quads as much as possible. Beautiful running on beautiful trails.
24 perfect hours. I can't imagine life getting much better, and I can think of millions of ways life could get worse. I am convinced we'll look back at this time in our lives and think of how happy we were. I should be happy; And yet, I feel like I'm living in limbo.
There is a simple test to see if I am enjoying life. If I want time to go slower, I am enjoying myself. Up until high school, I wanted time to slow to a standstill. I loved my life and wanted it to continue forever. Throughout my marriage with my ex, I wanted life to go fast; I wanted to get done with college, medical school, residency etc. But the last year of residency, especially after I met the Girl, I wanted to slow things down. This lasted until we moved to Denmark, after which I have wanted time to fly by.
It's the limbo I can't take. Or limbos; namely two, and a bunch of smaller ones.
The first is Natali and where she will be next year. My ex wife hasn't decided what she wants to do and, as some readers may know, she has the power to decide where Natali will live next year. I think about this 500 times a day, as I am biking or running or clearing the table after dinner. We can't plan anything past next summer, or "N-day" as I call it.
My ex-wife, bless her heart, ignores my emails. We have had some minor arguments lately. Really minor stuff, but her lack of communication makes the situation unnerving.
I don't know what I would do if she demands that Natali come back to Wisconsin. My first move could be to tell her (in writing, so I could show InterPol that I wasn't trying to kidnap Natali), "okay, she is all yours; come and get her". Now, my ex has watched me bring and pick up Natali 6 or 7 times over the last two years, while she has driven a few hours, tops, to Madison to meet us. She has paid half of one of the plane tickets, while bithing endlessly about it. Just that fact, that she would have to come here to pick up Natali, may deter her from wanting her.
Of course, such a move on my part would mean that I would be even farter away from Andreas, and being away from him is another one of my worries.
He's a pit of guilt and regret, moreso than a limbo, though. The other big limbo is what we'll do when the Girl is done with her PhD. This depends largely on what specialty she goes into. Right now, she is torn between ophthalmology and sports medicine. People may ask, appropriately, how the Girl could do a PhD in ophthalmology and then go into sports medicine. I personally think the Girl would be happy doing either specialty, and if she would go into sports med, she would sell her PhD as more of a public health/epidemiology study.
She would do well in either career. Ophthalmology seems more obvious, but her interests right now lie more in sports medicine. As much ought to be claer to anyone reading her blog (ie. the five people reading this). Her choice is exciting, but it also represents a state of limbo for me. Ophthalmology would probably take us back to Wisconsin and Andreas, whereas sports medicine would most likely take us to the Pacific Northwest. So it's not just a career choice for her; it's me being close to Andreas and, god forbid, Natali, if she ends up with my ex. And it has implications for my career, as hematology is a specialty of large academic centers. If the Girl does sports medicine, I may end up working in the ER, for a while or permanently.
I think the Dalai Lama has said something like "don't worry about things you can fix; fix them. Don't worry about things you can't fix, because you can't fix them, anyway". It seems like such simple advice to give, but it's hard to follow.
I got off from overnight call at 9. I had gotten a decent amount of sleep, so I started my commute home by biking to a train station, a little farther away from where I usually catch the train home. It was a brisk 50 minute ride through the cold, bright morning, all on bike lanes.
Read two interesting articles on the train on two different kinds of leukemia. Got home and fixed a late breakfast. Read a bit of Last Night in Twisted River, the new John Irving book. I got done with A Prayer for Owen Meany last week and that was a great book. Twisted River is okay and it's getting better as I'm halfway through. I was about to take a nap when the Girl got home from her run. She has to change quickly into her work clothes, which is always fun to watch. We talked a bit before I dozed off. Post-call naps are the best.
When I got up, I did some sit-ups while watching Bones. Threw some running clothes on and ran to Natali's after-school care. She was happy to see me; there are times when she is a little embarrassed of me, but this wasn't one of them. Some of her friends came over to see if she could play on this or that day. I referred them back to Natali, who likes to hang with friends no more than every other day.
I ran while she biked. She has a bike that she loves; I just put some of those fancy induction bike lights on it. She likes to sing while riding one-handed. It's hard to keep up with her. We swung by the grocery store on the way back to buy stuff for dinner. She wanted home-made burgers, insisting on fresh ground beed, not the pre-formed patties. She had also seen a set of new sheets (duvet and pillow covers) that she wanted. I reminded her that she had spent her last money on a stupid Nerf gun and encouraged her to save up for the sheets. She mock-pouted.
At home, I agreed to eat in front of the TV. After all, Friends and Two Guys and a Girl were on. Then the Girl came home from music class with the Lorax. He had been singing loudly the whole way home, on the back of the Girl's bike, and now went straight for a burger (which he pronounces buh-guh in Danish). The Girl was off to look at retinas for a few hours and I cleaned up after dinner.
Then I played with the Lorax. Our typical game included me hiding and scaring him. Then I tickle him until he screams "sloot", meaning "the end". Then I freeze and he climbs up on my back. He says "start" and I start to buck until he falls off. Then I run off to hide again or, alternatively, he runs off to hide. We always end up giggling hard. Sometimes, he gets overwhelmed by the game and goes "hej far!" ("Hi dad"), touching my face, to remind himself that I'm dad and not some crazy wolf about to eat him.
Then I put him to bed. He can go from wild savage to fast asleep in 5 minutes. I offer him a rub and a song and he climbs into bed and lies on his stomach. I always sing "Superman Song" by Crash Test Dummies. I have sung that song to all three kids; perhaps I've sung it 500 times. If he's not asleep by the end of it, which he usually is, I sing "I've just seen a face" by the beatles, followed by "Long may you run" by Neil Young.
I read to Natali; a novel that takes place in Norway. We talked for five minutes before I turn off the lights and kiss her cheek. She always insists on me tucking her in under both duvets.
Then the Girl came home. Her study is humming along right now, and there has been no major crisis this week. We had an hour to ourselves before calling it a night.
This morning, I ran two hours on the trails that start behind our house. Up and down steep hills, trying to beat up my quads as much as possible. Beautiful running on beautiful trails.
24 perfect hours. I can't imagine life getting much better, and I can think of millions of ways life could get worse. I am convinced we'll look back at this time in our lives and think of how happy we were. I should be happy; And yet, I feel like I'm living in limbo.
There is a simple test to see if I am enjoying life. If I want time to go slower, I am enjoying myself. Up until high school, I wanted time to slow to a standstill. I loved my life and wanted it to continue forever. Throughout my marriage with my ex, I wanted life to go fast; I wanted to get done with college, medical school, residency etc. But the last year of residency, especially after I met the Girl, I wanted to slow things down. This lasted until we moved to Denmark, after which I have wanted time to fly by.
It's the limbo I can't take. Or limbos; namely two, and a bunch of smaller ones.
The first is Natali and where she will be next year. My ex wife hasn't decided what she wants to do and, as some readers may know, she has the power to decide where Natali will live next year. I think about this 500 times a day, as I am biking or running or clearing the table after dinner. We can't plan anything past next summer, or "N-day" as I call it.
My ex-wife, bless her heart, ignores my emails. We have had some minor arguments lately. Really minor stuff, but her lack of communication makes the situation unnerving.
I don't know what I would do if she demands that Natali come back to Wisconsin. My first move could be to tell her (in writing, so I could show InterPol that I wasn't trying to kidnap Natali), "okay, she is all yours; come and get her". Now, my ex has watched me bring and pick up Natali 6 or 7 times over the last two years, while she has driven a few hours, tops, to Madison to meet us. She has paid half of one of the plane tickets, while bithing endlessly about it. Just that fact, that she would have to come here to pick up Natali, may deter her from wanting her.
Of course, such a move on my part would mean that I would be even farter away from Andreas, and being away from him is another one of my worries.
He's a pit of guilt and regret, moreso than a limbo, though. The other big limbo is what we'll do when the Girl is done with her PhD. This depends largely on what specialty she goes into. Right now, she is torn between ophthalmology and sports medicine. People may ask, appropriately, how the Girl could do a PhD in ophthalmology and then go into sports medicine. I personally think the Girl would be happy doing either specialty, and if she would go into sports med, she would sell her PhD as more of a public health/epidemiology study.
She would do well in either career. Ophthalmology seems more obvious, but her interests right now lie more in sports medicine. As much ought to be claer to anyone reading her blog (ie. the five people reading this). Her choice is exciting, but it also represents a state of limbo for me. Ophthalmology would probably take us back to Wisconsin and Andreas, whereas sports medicine would most likely take us to the Pacific Northwest. So it's not just a career choice for her; it's me being close to Andreas and, god forbid, Natali, if she ends up with my ex. And it has implications for my career, as hematology is a specialty of large academic centers. If the Girl does sports medicine, I may end up working in the ER, for a while or permanently.
I think the Dalai Lama has said something like "don't worry about things you can fix; fix them. Don't worry about things you can't fix, because you can't fix them, anyway". It seems like such simple advice to give, but it's hard to follow.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
November running log
2: 3 miles slowly. Recovering nicely from the 6-hour race. A little bit of plantar pain on the left.
6: Green Tunnel Hills, 5 repeats, one extra long stairs. The legs were ok, but not as peppy as a few weeks ago.
8-20: Forgot to log.
22: 3 Perimeter Loops.
24: 4 Perimeter Loops, feeling good.
26: Easy 5K or so before flying to Chicago
27: 3 hours at Lapham Peak. The Girl was cranky and pregnant. I ran a final loop alone and felt good.
6: Green Tunnel Hills, 5 repeats, one extra long stairs. The legs were ok, but not as peppy as a few weeks ago.
8-20: Forgot to log.
22: 3 Perimeter Loops.
24: 4 Perimeter Loops, feeling good.
26: Easy 5K or so before flying to Chicago
27: 3 hours at Lapham Peak. The Girl was cranky and pregnant. I ran a final loop alone and felt good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
